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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23099953">frenzy in my blood, the world between my teeth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iris_Duncan_72/pseuds/Iris_Duncan_72'>Iris_Duncan_72</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is a Good Person, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Merpeople, Monster of the Week, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Nonbinary Character, OR IS IT, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, he's also Suffering TM, in which ciri is jaskier's kid, irrelevant side characters galore, sweet tiny bab ciri</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:20:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,896</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23099953</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iris_Duncan_72/pseuds/Iris_Duncan_72</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt is vividly reminded why he hates going anywhere near the ocean.</p><p>Fucking <i>mer</i>.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>856</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Trans Characters in The Witcher Universe</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The lake is about half a mile wide at its broadest, set in a rough egg shape that tapers at both ends where it stretches out into a river flowing from the mountains, through the lake, and down the hill towards the town, and it is twice as deep.  Much of the bankside is steep, the water swiftly plunging deep, but there are some parts with marshy shallows, thick with reeds and small fish.  Standing in one area of shallows, Geralt can make out a tiny island some ways out in the water, likely too far for humans to see with the morning mist still hanging low.  He looks down, sees the broken remains of a simple fishing boat lodged in the churned up mud and reeds.</p><p>‘Has there been any trouble with creatures in the lake before now?’ he asks the anxious alderman standing a few feet behind him, well clear of the water’s edge.</p><p>‘No, witcher, none,’ the alderman replies.  ‘We might’ve thought something came in from the sea, but it can’t be that.’</p><p>Geralt knows that after passing through the town at the foot of the hill, the river snakes to the sea, a couple of miles away at most.  It’s not at all out of the realm of possibility that something <em>has</em> swum up here, something that doesn’t mind saltwater or freshwater, which narrows the list a bit.  But –</p><p>‘Why?’ he grunts, turning away from the lake.</p><p>The alderman swallows thickly, gaze darting from Geralt’s eyes to his swords to his hands and back.  ‘Well, on account of the dam, you see.  It’s been in construction since midsummer, order of His Lordship, Lord Ravel.’</p><p>Geralt narrows his eyes, watches the alderman squirm in response.  ‘And did Lord Ravel check the lake for inhabitants before he closed off the only waterway to the ocean?’</p><p>Realisation floods the man’s face, turning his skin a sickly shade of pale.  He glances at the lake with fresh alarm.  ‘Um.’</p><p>Splendid.  Geralt inhales deeply through his nose, clinging to his fast-fading patience, before striding back to where he left Roach.  He hears the alderman hurrying to keep up with him.</p><p>‘Where are we going, witcher?’ the man squeaks.</p><p>‘<em>I</em> am going to Lord Ravel,’ Geralt mutters darkly, clicking his tongue and touching his heels to Roach’s sides.  She responds immediately and they soon leave the lake and spluttering alderman behind.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Lord Ravel’s manor sits on the far side of town, closer to the sea than the lake, and it is an old, grand structure boasting marble columns and steep tiled rooves.  Aware that he’s about to piss his potential employer off as it is, Geralt manfully resists the urge to curl his lip at the sight.  He hands Roach’s reins to the wide-eyed servant who scurries out of the house to meet him, ordering the boy to ensure her wellbeing until he returns, before striding inside.  A middle-aged woman with a hoop of keys on her belt to indicate she might be the housekeeper steps into his path a moment later.</p><p>‘His Lordship is expecting you in the garden, sir,’ she says politely, doing a very good job of not looking intimidated.</p><p>Geralt grunts in response and follows her through several corridors, wrinkling his nose at the overly sweet scent of fruit wine that pervades the air.  A pair of glass-paned doors open out onto a sprawling patio, replete with potted plants, a fountain, and lightweight furniture.  Unfortunately, the smell only increases, and a quick glance around reveals its source to be an opened bottle on a small round table next to the man Geralt presume to be Lord Ravel.  He’s thin as a whip, draped in far too much red silk, and brightens when he spots Geralt, in the way that only idiots who underestimate witchers do.</p><p>‘Ah, witcher!’ he cries jovially, lifting a half-full glass of wine in greeting.</p><p>The woman at Geralt’s side bobs a curtsey and retreats back into the house.  Even less in the mood for nobility and their foppish stupidity than usual, Geralt lets his expression stray towards his favourite one – severely unamused.</p><p>‘Lord Ravel, I presume,’ he says.</p><p>The man beams and draws near.  Wine is strong on his breath but his green eyes are sharp and clear; an alcoholic, perhaps.  ‘I am he,’ Ravel agrees.  ‘Now, have you seen the lake?  The boat?  Poor Martin and Jerome, their families are inconsolable, as I’m sure you can –’</p><p>‘I have,’ Geralt interrupts bluntly.  ‘Tell me – what manner of monster do your fishermen keep watch for out on the sea?’</p><p>Ravel scarcely seems to notice the interruption, easily switching track.  ‘Well, that’d be mer, mostly.  There’s a pod of them, quite large, that comes up the coast most winters and there’s often a few of them in the bay all year ‘round.  I’ve been told we lose a couple of men to their songs every year.’  He doesn’t look very bothered, as if this is only a minor inconvenience.</p><p>Mer.  Oh, well, that’s just fantastic.  Why is it always fucking <em>mer?</em></p><p>‘Your alderman said you’ve had no trouble up at the lake before,’ Geralt continues, with the air of someone having their teeth pulled.  ‘Is it a common fishing ground?  Are people often in the waters?’</p><p>‘Heavens no!’ Ravel exclaims.  ‘There’s a lot of superstitious nonsense surrounding the lake, you know, most of the townspeople won’t go <em>near</em> it.  They reckon it’s sacred to the mer, that they use it as a nesting ground.’  He waves a dismissive hand through the air, as though swatting an irritating fly.  ‘Nearly had riots on my hands when I announced the dam was being built!  But my men soon put a stop to that.’</p><p>Geralt comes very, very close to punching this complete <em>imbecile’s</em> face in.  ‘And Your Lordship did not consider that there might be nesting mer in the lake when you began your dam?’</p><p>He hates hunting mer on the best of days, but hunting <em>nesting mer?</em>  Utter stupidity, to be avoided at all costs.  As with most species, the creatures become absolutely feral when their young are threatened.  Quite frankly, this is why Geralt generally steers clear of the Continent’s coasts, far preferring to keep his monster hunting inland, because <em>every time</em> he comes within fifty miles of the ocean he gets called on to come and deal with a <em>bloody mer.</em></p><p>Ravel has the nerve to look puzzled, his thin blond brows drawing together as he blinks up at Geralt.  ‘I don’t see why it should matter.  Monsters are monsters, are they not?  Never mind if they’re young.’</p><p>...Clearly this man had no experience with mer.  In fact –</p><p>‘Are you new to this place, my Lord?’ Geralt asks, tone deceptively mild.</p><p>‘That’s an odd sort of a question, isn’t it?  But if you must know, yes,’ Ravel replies, lifting his chin in an ineffectual show of importance.  ‘My father died unexpectedly two years past.’</p><p>‘Then perhaps Your Lordship will allow me to enlighten you on exactly what kind of monster mer are,’ Geralt says with utmost pleasantness, belied somewhat by his menacing step forward.  Ravel makes a squeaky noise, opening his mouth to speak as he stumbles back against the table, but Geralt ploughs right over him.  ‘I don’t know what fanciful accounts of mer fill children’s books, but an average adult mer is the size of an ox.’  He takes another step, sees Ravel’s face pale.  ‘A glancing blow from a mer’s tail is stronger than a horse kick.’  The third step puts him toe to toe with the quailing lord.  ‘You would have better luck fending off a pack of starving wolves barehanded than surviving a nesting mer’s attack.  I’m surprised your men managed to get the dam built at all.’</p><p>Ravel swallows convulsively, licking his lips.  ‘Well, I – well,’ he stammers, hastily sliding out from between the table and the angry witcher.  He takes a fortifying mouthful of wine and clears his throat.  ‘Well.  Nevertheless.  I can’t have half a pod of mer living in the lake.  You will be paid handsomely to remove them, witcher.’</p><p>Geralt raises a brow.  ‘Why not simply open a section of the dam and let them out?’</p><p>‘I – that would be preposterous,’ Ravel splutters, nearly spilling the dregs of his glass over himself in his sudden passion.  ‘These are <em>monsters</em> we speak of.  I have a <em>duty</em> to my people to ensure the lives of their fallen are avenged!’</p><p>Geralt rather thinks Ravel wouldn’t know <em>duty</em> if it slapped him in the face.  Still, he murmurs, ‘As my Lord thinks best.’  He turns to leave then and almost, <em>almost</em> makes it to the doors when his instincts overwhelm his reason and he pauses, not looking back as he asks, ‘Why were those men out on the lake?  You said the townspeople don’t go up there.’</p><p>In the long moment of awkward silence, Geralt distinctly hears the sound of a heartbeat picking up speed.</p><p>‘I, uh.  Trout.  I wanted trout and – um.  I ordered the fishers to go and get some.’</p><p>The silence curdles like bad milk and Geralt would’ve been able to tell that lie from a mile away even if he were not a witcher (it’s <em>autumn</em>, for fuck’s sake, nobody goes trout fishing in <em>autumn</em>).  He leaves without further comment in search of an inn and a large tankard of ale.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Now, it’s been Geralt’s long-standing policy to avoid getting caught up in the affairs of men wherever possible, which is not to say he always <em>succeeds</em>, but he tries, dammit.  He’s a witcher, not a bailiff.  Monsters are his trade, not the idiocy of humans.</p><p>Unfortunately, that doesn’t change the fact that there’s probably an adult mer and a pup in that lake.  Not all mer are interested in traversing inland waters, sticking the safety of the ocean, but for those that are, they must swim in freshwater while young.  Something to do with acclimatising their scales to the different levels of salinity, he can’t recall all the details off the top of his head.  Anyway, that inevitably means a period of increased risk for the mer, both pup and adult, as they travel through waterways watched by eyes covetous of their scales, their blood, even their claws and teeth.  Given the details of this right mess Geralt has learned today, it seems all too likely that Lord Ravel has set his sights on acquiring a mer corpse or two of his own and, given the failure of his own men, he’s hired a witcher to do the hard bit for him.</p><p>Geralt bares his teeth at the shadowed roof above his bed, anger prickling hot and sharp in his blood.  He loathes to involve himself in such meddlesome ventures, but there’s a reason he carries a steel sword and that’s because sometimes the monsters in need of slaying wear human skin (and no, he’s not referring to dopplers).  Rolling onto his side with a gusty sigh, he resolves to sleep.  After his trip to the manner, he’d spent the rest of the day picking up ingredients at the apothecary and replenishing his stock of potions, so all the mer hunting will be happening tomorrow.  It’s going to be a shitshow no matter what, of this he is certain, and he might as well be properly rested for it.</p><p>Geralt’s final thought as he sinks into a light slumber is that, after this, he’s not coming within a hundred miles of the sea for <em>at least</em> a decade.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>As a general rule, mer are crepuscular beings so Geralt rises well before dawn.  By the time he and Roach reach the lake, the sky is grey, the light yet dim enough that human eyes would require a lantern to do more than stumble around tentatively.  He fastens Roach’s reins to a tree some distance back from the water’s edge with a reassuring murmur and a pat on her flank.  They’re by the neck of the lake, the hulking structure of the dam looming ahead.  Unhooking a burlap sack from the saddle horn, Geralt strides down to the dam, leaving his swords sheathed on his back.  A swig of Cat would have the cool autumnal mist melt before his eyes, but as he’s here less with intent to hunt and more with intent to do something stupidly altruistic, he figures that might not be a great first impression to make.</p><p>Not if he wants to gain even a shred of the adult mer’s trust.</p><p>With this in mind, Geralt scrambles up onto the narrow walkway atop the dam, cautiously following it out over the water.  The drop is only several metres and there are no rough currents or waves, but this is the mer’s territory, not his.  They don’t know he has no intention of killing them and if there’s a pup in the mix, well, Geralt’s confident the adult will be doing most of their thinking with their claws.</p><p>When he judges himself to be about halfway across, Geralt sits facing the lake and opens the coarse sack, pulling out a large cut of fresh pig hindquarters.  He slaps it down next to him, prodding it to encourage blood to trickle from the raw meat down to the water.  The scent of blood will draw the mer’s attention faster than anything other than tipping a cauldron of flaming oil into the lake.  Prepared to be here a while, Geralt closes his eyes and settles his breathing, slipping into a meditative state that lets his body rest while fine-tuning his senses to the <em>nth</em> degree.</p><p>He breathes, tasting the morning chill in the back of his throat.</p><p>He waits, his muscles loose and limber.</p><p>He listens, hearing the steady beat of his heart, the water lapping at the dam, Roach fossicking in the grass in the distance, the first birds fluttering about in the trees –</p><p>
  <em>Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump</em>
</p><p>Geralt’s eyes are open before he’s consciously realised that that’s <em>not</em> his own heart, though it is almost as slow.  He throws the meat into the water without hesitation, watching it land with a splash and begin to sink.</p><p>‘A peace offering,’ he declares clearly.  ‘I’ll give you the same again if you will speak with me.’</p><p>There’s a ripple in the water and the meat abruptly disappears into the depths.  Unconcerned at the lack of a reply, Geralt sits back and waits again, senses open wide.</p><p>It only takes another quarter of an hour or so, if the light is anything to go by, before the surface of the lake swirls once more, eddying and twisting.  Geralt straightens, focus sharpening, and then he sees <em>blue.</em>  Bright, piercing eyes of purest blue framed by short, dark hair and set in a pale face as the mer lifts only their head above the water.</p><p>The mer’s nostrils flare and they bare a mouthful of knife-like teeth.  ‘Witcher.’  Even without singing, their voice is musical, just this side of enchanting.</p><p>Geralt nods, noting that this mer must be on the small side, if their head is proportional to his body.  Typical, of course – the slighter the mer, the more dangerous they are.</p><p>‘I hope the meat was to your pup’s liking,’ Geralt says mildly, just so they’re on the same page here.</p><p>Blue eyes shine as the mer rears back, their shoulders sloshing through the water (they’re barely as big as Geralt, <em>fuck</em>), and a guttural snarl echoes in their throat.  ‘Did the humans send you, witcher?  Do you come to slaughter me and take my little one to them as a bounty?’</p><p>Geralt’s wolf pendant starts vibrating very slightly against his chest in response to the mer’s magic, sticky threads of compulsion weaving through their voice.  Feeling his ears pop at the sudden drop in air pressure, Geralt replies with a vehement, <em>‘No.</em>  The fool who ordered this dam built would no doubt like that to happen, but I see no rampaging monster to lift my silver against.’  He shrugs a shoulder, drawing attention to his sheathed blades.  ‘I don’t think the common folk who live around here would thank me for spilling your blood, either.’</p><p>Sharp blue eyes narrow, the mer sinking a little.  ‘They have never troubled us before.  The dam was... unexpected.’</p><p>‘Hmm,’ Geralt grunts.  ‘I am here to strongly encourage and assist you to return to the sea, mer.’</p><p>‘And why would you do that?’ the mer hisses suspiciously.  The water around them churns, stirred up by their thrashing tail.  ‘Witchers work for coin and there is none of that in heroics.’</p><p>Geralt swallows a sigh.  The trouble with indulging in sporadic bursts of altruism is that <em>no-one ever believes him</em>.  Everyone always thinks he has a hidden motive, which, alright, fair enough.  But <em>still</em>.</p><p>‘Witchers hunt monsters causing threat and harm to humans,’ he amends.  ‘You aren’t doing that.’</p><p>The mer cocks their head, visibly disbelieving.  ‘I killed two of them less than three days past.’</p><p>Alright, they have a point, but do they <em>want</em> Geralt’s help or not?</p><p>‘Self-defence,’ Geralt allows generously.  ‘You were protecting your pup from cruel hunters.’</p><p>At the mention of the pup, the mer looks slightly murderous again, teeth flashing in the predawn light.  ‘Anyone who comes between her and me will have their throat torn out.’  Their stare burns into Geralt’s.  <em>‘Anyone.’</em></p><p>Understandable.</p><p>Geralt voices a question he’s had since he learned of the mer’s presence, though he’s starting to think he knows the answer already.  ‘Wood and steel are hardly a match for your kind.  You could punch a hole in the dam and be gone.’</p><p>The mer purses their lips in an expression that some might label a pout, but Geralt cannot bring himself to do so because this is a <em>mer</em> (they don’t pout, any more than <em>witchers</em> pout, and that alone is the most laughable concept Geralt’s come across in at least a decade).  ‘I am not as strong as my brethren,’ the mer admits, confirming the witcher’s suspicions.  ‘To do so would leave me dangerously weakened for the rest of the journey.’</p><p>An idea comes to mind.  It’s a terrible one, no two ways about it, and Geralt can hear the hysterical laughing of Eskel and Lambert somewhere in the distance, can see the look of thoroughly exasperated dismay on Vesemir’s on face, but <em>it’s an idea, dammit</em>.  His chances of making any money out of this job have already been blown to shit, so, really, why not go all the way and irredeemably piss of Lord Ravel?  If he’s lucky, he might not get chased out of the region by the pitchfork-wielding peasantry, not if they’re half as respectful of the mer as they’re reported to be.</p><p>Exhaling long and slow through his nose in lieu of burying his face in his hands and groaning, Geralt says, ‘I’ll... escort you to the sea.  If you want.’</p><p>The mer snorts in a show of unexpected amusement.  ‘That sounded like it physically hurt to voice.  Are you sure you aren’t under oath?’</p><p>Geralt bares his teeth before remembering he’s trying to be diplomatic.  ‘I offer my assistance only once, mer,’ he growls.  ‘I’d rather not see your pup torn apart by greedy human hands, but the choice is yours.’</p><p>Instead of blowing up at him, the mer simply grins, feral and predatory, their eyes azure slits.  ‘A white-haired witcher with a soft spot for innocents of any race?  I know who you are.  You’re Geralt of Rivia.’  There’s a note of pride in that lyrical voice.</p><p>Geralt decides he doesn’t want to know how a <em>mer</em> in the middle of <em>nowhere</em> knows his name.  ‘Congratulations,’ he grunts.  ‘If you’re quite done, we should hurry.  The lordling doesn’t trust me, so there are probably already watchmen along the river.’</p><p>That’s his fault, of course; he shouldn’t have antagonised Ravel so much but it’s too late to worry about that now.</p><p>The mer tosses their head, the slick scales on their skin glinting, and their expression darkens once more.  ‘I must trust you on this, witcher, but prove yourself false and I will show you no mercy.’</p><p>Geralt nods, already getting to his feet.  Regardless of the mer’s size, theirs is no empty threat – he wouldn’t be remotely surprised if they were capable of singing a typhoon to life all by themself.  He tosses the rest of the bloody offering from the sack into the water, watching as the mer darts forward, sinking lethal fangs into the meat and disappearing underwater.</p><p>He’s almost back to shore when the whole dam shudders faintly and a muted boom rattles his bones.  Despite himself, Geralt finds a lick of appreciation for the mer’s strength flicker through him as he picks up his pace.  The dam quakes again and more ominous noises rumble up from the bottom of the lake.  Jumping off the end of the walkway and landing heavily, Geralt glances back and sees the water shivering, unnatural little eddies rippling across the surface.  One edge of his mouth twitches up in a smirk as he returns to Roach, who’s looking alert and mildly alarmed, her ears pricked and swivelled towards the lake.</p><p>Quite frankly, Ravel’s an utter moron if he thinks he’s going to be able to get his hands on either of the mer he’s trapped.  All he’d have to do would be drop his guard for a single second and even the pup wouldn’t have much trouble tearing the fool to bloody pieces.</p><p>Geralt takes a moment to soothe Roach before mounting her and nudging her forwards.  They stop a short way downstream of the dam – the current through the hole that the mer is creating will be fierce and it seems unlikely that they’ll try to resurface in the midst of it.  He’s not kept waiting long.  A few minutes and several more shrieking, groaning booms later, the mouth of the river starts bubbling and churning and Geralt narrows his eyes, searching for any sign of the mer.  He doesn’t find any and then the mer bursts up through the surface not far from the bank.  Their shining blue eyes find Geralt immediately before sweeping over the surrounding area, shadows yet heavy in the dawn light.</p><p>‘You have no-one with you,’ the mer says decisively, nose twitching for any threatening scents.</p><p>Geralt grunts.  ‘Stay close to the bank and protect your pup.’</p><p>‘And you’ll protect the both of us, Geralt?’ the mer lilts, his name twisting with uncommon elegance on their tongue.</p><p>‘Hmm,’ he agrees.</p><p>Despite already having acknowledged the trust they’re being forced to place in Geralt, the mer remains still, buffeted by small waves.  They stare at him like they intend to pry him open and examine all his pieces.  It’s mildly unsettling, but Geralt doesn’t rush them, sensing that they’re on the edge of a weighty decision.</p><p>‘Jaskier,’ they finally say, the word sliding smoothly from their mouth and coiling around him with the warm sensuality of a powerful being very much at home in their own skin.</p><p>He raises a brow in silent question, internally shaking off the mer’s magic without comment, recognising it to be as important in their self-introduction as the name itself.</p><p>They tilt their head.  ‘You may call me by my name, Geralt.’</p><p>At this, he simply nods, deep enough to show he understands the value of what they’ve given him.  Geralt may not know a whole lot about mer culture, but he is aware that the exchange of names is an important indicator of trust.</p><p>‘We will keep pace with you,’ Jaskier declares, before slipping beneath the river’s turbulent surface in a flash of dark curls and gleaming eyes.</p><p>Geralt exhales.  ‘C’mon, Roach,’ he mutters, squeezing her sides lightly.</p><p>She snorts and breaks into a comfortably brisk trot.  Following the curves and bend of the river, it should only take a couple of hours to reach the ocean at this pace, barring any incidents.  Geralt has no illusions about the likelihood of <em>that</em>, however, and he maintains a vigilant watch as they travel.  The thought of depraved human hands grasping for a little thing like the mer pup makes his lips curl back in a sneer, hands itching for his swords.  Any idiot who tries to get between him and the sea, him and the river is going to get a fatal taste of steel through their throat or their gullet or their skull, and he will lose precisely <em>no</em> sleep over it.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Everything’s fine until they reach the town.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>1) this is my fourth mer fic and i love that for me.</p><p>2) gender is one of humanity's stupider constructs and jaskier ain't about it.</p><p>3) yes, i have a thing for sharp teeth. no, we will not be discussing it further.</p><p>4) this was not meant to be chaptered but. here we are. stay tuned for bloodshed and feral protective mer n witchers!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The streets aren’t busy at this time in the morning but there’s still plenty of tradesmen and farmers up and about.  Lights flicker behind windows and shutters and the smell of fresh bread is pervasive.  Here the river narrows by at least half and dips down into a steep-sided canal, with bridges spanning it at regular intervals and the odd delivery vessel gently bobbing on the surface.  The water is distinctly less clear than it was further up the hill but much of the silt has settled overnight and despite the cloudiness, Jaskier is all too visible to anyone looking closely.</p>
<p>Geralt lets his expression settle into the familiar lines of a thunderous scowl, which usually all he needs as a deterrent against those who might interrupt his journey.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t work on the group of soldiers in red tunics who are clearly a welcoming party sent by Ravel in case Geralt should pass through town before returning to the manor.  There are eight of them and they look slightly bored, clearly not expecting the witcher to show up – until he does.</p>
<p>One of the soldier barks a warning and then they’re all on alert, presenting a united, stony-eyed front as a silently cursing Geralt slows Roach before them.</p>
<p>‘Ho there, witcher,’ a grizzled soldier who might be the captain says.  ‘Lord Ravel has employed you to deal to the monster in the lake.  What business have you travelling towards the sea instead?’</p>
<p>Geralt’s glare intensifies and one of the soldiers at the back flinches, subtly moving his fingers in a protective sign touted by superstitious old fishers’ wives.  ‘I have dealt to it.  Your lake is safe.’</p>
<p>The soldier puffs out his chest, the arrogance in his tone setting Geralt’s teeth on edge.  ‘Oh?  Then where is the beast’s head?  You have not delivered it yet to His Lordship.’</p>
<p>Resisting the urge to snarl outright, Geralt opens his mouth to say something along the lines of <em>fuck off</em> when the soldier standing closest to the lip of the canal gives a startled yelp.</p>
<p>Shit.</p>
<p>‘There’s a mer down here, sir!’ the soldier cries.</p>
<p>Geralt casts his gaze skyward for a brief moment – he hates coming near the ocean, he <em>hates</em> it, nothing ever goes right – and swings down off Roach.  He’s knows what’s coming and it’ll be easy enough to handle on foot without putting his beloved horse in harm’s way.</p>
<p>‘You lied to us, witcher,’ the first soldier spits, drawing his sword.</p>
<p>‘No, I didn’t,’ Geralt sighs.  ‘The lake is safe now.  I’m escorting the mer back to the sea.’</p>
<p>‘It’s a <em>monster,’</em> shouts another soldier.  ‘Don’t you kill monsters?’</p>
<p>‘I do,’ Geralt agrees, and then he slaps Roach’s rump, prompting her to whinny sharply and charge off further into town.  She’s a very sensible horse and it won’t be hard to find her later.</p>
<p>The rest of the soldiers draw their weapons, one of them wielding a short mace, and Geralt growls instead of sighing again (he has an image to keep up), pulling out his own steel blade and settling into a defensive stance.</p>
<p>‘Looks like we’ll be taking you <em>and</em> the fish back to the manor,’ the captain (Geralt has decided that’s who he is) snarls.</p>
<p>Three of the soldiers at the back apparently take that as a cue, peeling away from the back and dashing away to the nearest bridge, but Geralt can’t focus on them now as the captain and another soldier lunge straight at him.  He parries a blow, dodges the other, then steps forward and thrusts his blade deep into a soldier’s ribcage, ripping it out and getting covered in the man’s spraying lifeblood.  Behind him, Geralt hears an inhuman roar and a great deal of splashing, which reassures him that Jaskier is doing alright on their own for now.</p>
<p>A mace swings through the air towards his head and Geralt’s focus sharpens, his body moving fluidly as he sidesteps the blow, chops the offending arm off, and kicks the soldier in the gut.  The momentum spins him and he bends his knees, slicing into another soldier’s torso and seeing the life drain from his eyes quicker than the blood spilling from his body.  Geralt steps past him and –</p>
<p>There’s a loud metallic <em>clang</em> immediately followed by a piercing scream of fury.</p>
<p>He stabs the fallen, one-armed soldier in the neck and slices his sword clean through, nearly decapitating the man before turning, attention arrowing towards the river because that cry could only have come from a mer and his gut <em>lurches</em> at the thought of what might’ve happened.</p>
<p>A crate-sized cage, the steel bars visibly enchanted, is being hauled out of the churning waters on the far bank, too far for Jaskier to reach it in time.</p>
<p>In the cage is a small figure, squirming too much to make out anything more than silver scales, fair skin, and huge green eyes.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p>
<p>Heedless of the danger they’re throwing themself into, Jaskier speeds towards the bank, closer to the spear being jabbed down at him, face twisted in a ferocious snarl.  But the cage is already halfway up the bank, dripping and shaking, rattling the thick loops of chain fastened around one of the bars, and Jaskier won’t <em>make it –</em></p>
<p>Geralt moves faster than he’s ever done in his life, a throwing knife in his hand and then in the air and then buried in the eye socket of the soldier dragging the cage between one rapid heartbeat and the next.  Cries fill the air on all sides as the cage and its precious cargo drops back into the river with an almighty splash and Jaskier dives underwater, after it before the man with a punctured skull has even hit the ground.</p>
<p>
  <em>Shifting air, a singing blade, the echo of a bellow –</em>
</p>
<p>Hair whipping his face, Geralt ducks and turns, slashing out with his sword and catching his next attacker in the gut.  The soldier yells in pain and Geralt grunts, kicking him in the chest to free his blade and leaping over the crumpling man, blocking a blow from the last standing soldier and sweeping his legs out from beneath him.  The man falls onto the edge of Geralt’s sword and blood gushes.  Geralt barely notices.  He’s already drenched in the stuff and as long as it doesn’t get in his eyes or slick the pommel of his sword, he doesn’t give a shit.</p>
<p>More screaming sounds up ahead and he swears, not bothering to check whether the soldiers are all properly dead before sprinting down the road, following the river around a sculpted bend.  Geralt skids as he rounds the buildings but manages not to fall, pushing himself faster as he swiftly appraises the scene before him.</p>
<p>A tall gate spans the river and rises a solid couple of meters above the surface of the water.  He can see silver glinting in it and knows Jaskier won’t be able to get past it, not with the dozen soldiers harassing them from either side of the bank with long vicious weapons designed to dig into flesh and rend it as painfully as possible.  The mer isn’t helpless, of course, and even as attention turns to the witcher running full tilt towards them, Jaskier’s long, powerful tail whips through the air and bats a man into the water.  He barely has a chance to wail before the mer drags him beneath the waves and then there’s a lot of blood and bubbles.</p>
<p>The remaining soldiers struggle to lift their long hooked spears towards Geralt and fear blanches their faces and scents as he moves through them like a whirlwind, felling them with them ease of a man swatting lazy summer blowflies.  A couple of soldiers drop their mer-catching weapons, drawing their swords instead, but Geralt bares his teeth and casts Aard, knocking them all back.  He hears a throaty growl from the river coupled with a sizeable splash and trusts that Jaskier is handling things for the moment, focusing on disembowelling the men before him.  It takes a disgustingly short amount of time but Geralt’s been doing this for decades and he doesn’t stop, doesn’t get caught in that trap.</p>
<p>Turning, he sees that there are still three soldiers on the far side of the canal, all looking terrified and furious.  One holds a crossbow and he hefts it, the other two men blocking Jaskier from lunging up at him.  The soldier aims at the base of the gate, where the caged pup likely is, and Jaskier launches themself just in time to catch the arrow in their clavicle.  It knocks them back and they shriek in pain, already bleeding from several gashes on their chest and upper back.  This all happens in a moment and then Geralt sweeps out with an arm, casting Aard again and blasting the three men back, hissing out a sharp breath as his energy reserves take a hit.</p>
<p>
  <em>‘Geralt.’</em>
</p>
<p>His stare jerks down at the rasped plea and he’s momentarily shaken by Jaskier’s fierce blue gaze, those wide eyes imploring and panicking, and Geralt understands that the mer is deathly frightened for their pup.  He understands that they’re imploring him to prove the worth of his word, to cease his violent rampage long enough to protect the vulnerable little life in Jaskier’s care.</p>
<p>Geralt dips his head in a brisk nod, then backs up a couple of paces.  He hears yelps of alarm across the water as the soldiers there realise what he’s about to do and he doesn’t restrain the feral grin just barely curling around his mouth as he rocks his weight forward and <em>runs</em>.  His foot plants firmly on the lip of the canal and Geralt launches himself across the four-metre gap.  He thumps down, perfectly balanced on the balls of his feet, and it’s too easy to swing his sword up and decapitate the soldier charging him.  Sidestepping the body that collapses like a puppet with its strings cut, Geralt meets the next man, smacking his blade against the soldier’s with enough force to make the horrified man stumble back.  Gold eyes bore relentlessly into his and the soldier makes a shrill noise, flailing uselessly with his weapon and getting slashed deeply across the chest.</p>
<p>‘S– stay there!’ the soldier with the crossbow shouts, the whites of his eyes showing as he hastily backs away.  ‘I’ll shoot you!’</p>
<p>Geralt doesn’t even slow, upper lip curling back from his teeth, and the soldier flinches, hitting the trigger.  The arrow spits into the air, flying straight and true, and Geralt’s sword blurs and the arrow hits the ground in two pieces.  The archer gives a strangled yell, raising the empty crossbow, but he doesn’t get a chance to do anything with it as Geralt slashes his throat and he collapses, choking on his own blood.</p>
<p>There’s a moment of silence but for the susurrating of the river against the sides of the canal and Geralt takes the opportunity to breathe.  He’s acquired several shallow cuts of his own but they’re already healing and he ignores them.  His stomach turns at the sight of the carnage he’s left in his wake, memories of Blaviken –</p>
<p>
  <em>– Butcher, Butcher, Butcher, Butcher –</em>
</p>
<p>– rising.  Instinctively, he glances around, golden gaze darting over closed doors and barred windows, half expecting the townspeople to pour out and start hurling stones and cutlery at him.  But they don’t and Jaskier’s making distressed noises, so Geralt shoves all his emotions back in their tiny box and kicks it down into the cellar of his mind and refocuses on his current situation.</p>
<p>‘You’re unharmed?’ Jaskier asks quickly when Geralt crouches at the edge of the canal.  The arrow still protrudes from their flesh, blood trickling down their front, and their jaw is tight with pain.</p>
<p>Geralt dips his chin in a nod (really, he’ll be fine).  ‘The pup,’ he begins, only to be interrupted by a guttural snarl from the mer.</p>
<p>‘They’re not going to <em>touch her,’</em> Jaskier spits, a dangerously wild look blazing in their bright eyes.  ‘I’ll flood this entire fucking town if I must but –’ their expression twists – ‘Geralt, I can’t open the cage.  I’m not – strong enough.’  The ribbed fins on either side of their head (ears, presumably) press flat against their skull and they bar their teeth in helpless frustration.  ‘Never mind <em>this</em> cursed thing.’  Jaskier glares at the silver-lined gate preventing blocking his passage.</p>
<p>Geralt flicks his gaze over the canal and its sloping sides.  It’s too steep for him to descend if he wants to get back out before reinforcements arrive and that leaves one option.  He purses his lips, eyeing the damn gate coolly before meeting Jaskier’s feral stare once more.</p>
<p>‘Give me the cage,’ he orders, sheathing his sword and stretching down an arm.  ‘I’ll get her out and put her back in the water on the other side of the gate.’</p>
<p>Jaskier reels, shock and alarm and distrust flashing across their expression.  They’re all swiftly replaced by wary interest, though.  ‘And... me?’ the mer asks, a touch hesitant.</p>
<p>‘I’ll pull you out after and move you, too,’ Geralt replies firmly.</p>
<p>Shock again, but there’s no time for that and he waves his hand emphatically.  Jaskier licks their lips, ear fins twitching anxiously before they dive down and retrieve the caged pup.  Geralt’s wizened heart squeezes at the sight of the mewling child, terror pouring off her in sickening waves.  Jaskier coos reassuringly to her, speaking in a hypnotic tongue Geralt doesn’t know, then heaves the cage up to the witcher with a bitten off yip of pain.</p>
<p>‘Her name’s Ciri,’ Jaskier hisses between gritted teeth.</p>
<p>Geralt sets the cage on the ground, looking down into huge eyes of otherworldly green.  The pup, Ciri, looks like a human child of about five, if human children had two-foot-long silvery tails instead of legs.  She curls her tiny hands around the bars and, despite her palpable fear, she holds his gaze, making a soft, lilting noise that might be a request for help.</p>
<p>Repressed emotion roughens Geralt’s voice, but he tries to speak gently as he grips two steel bars.  ‘Be still, Ciri.  I don’t want to hurt you.’</p>
<p>She chirps like an underwater bird and then he’s concentrating, brow furrowed fiercely as he <em>pulls</em>, forcing the bars to bend apart.  His muscles burn with the strain but slowly the metal warps, creating a sizeable gap.  Geralt stops with a tired huff when it’s big enough and offers Ciri he’s gloved hands, suddenly aware of how filthy and stained with blood they are.  But the little mer is not repulsed, instead coiling herself around his arms and allowing him to carry her damp, fragile body out of the mangled cage.  Unwilling to admit how close to breathless he is at the implicit trust, Geralt is momentarily floored when Ciri makes a happy sound as he carries her back to the river.  Her scent mellows, fear still present but no longer directed <em>at</em> him, and she blinks up at him sweetly.</p>
<p>Swallowing through a tight throat, Geralt crouches again and lowers her into the canal, watching her slip out of his hold like a fish and disappear under the water.  His hands tingle faintly and he has to sternly tell himself to get it together before he goes back to Jaskier.</p>
<p>The adult mer looks exhausted, searing blue eyes at half-mast and pale skin possessing an unhealthy pallor, but they flash a sincere smile.  ‘Thank you, Geralt.’</p>
<p>Heartfelt gratitude is one of the few (many) things Geralt has no idea how to handle so he simply grunts and jerks his head towards the arrow.  ‘Break the shaft off,’ he tells the mer, ‘or it’ll catch.’  They can’t remove the arrowhead yet, not until there’s time to bind the wound.</p>
<p>Jaskier does so without argument, tail thrashing beneath the water, then lifts their arms.  This is going to hurt a lot, no two ways about it, so Geralt ignores their soft yowl when he seizes their wet hands in his and hauls them out of the water.  He tries to keep from scraping their body up the side of the canal, but their tail is so long that it happens anyway.  Jaskier flinches, scales no doubt tearing against the rough stone, but it’s over quickly.  As soon as their hips are level with the top of the canal, Geralt sits them down before picking them up in a more traditional fashion, one arm behind their back, the other under the top of their tail.</p>
<p>Geralt makes a valiant attempt not to be distracted by the lithe body in his arms but miserably fails.  Jaskier’s fair skin is streaked with silver-blue scales and there’s a delicacy to their features at odds with the steeliness of their whipcord muscles, reminding Geralt that they single-handedly tore a hole in a new dam with brute force alone.  Their tail is a good five metres in length, midnight-blue and serpentine, and honestly, Geralt would have to be a <em>monk</em> not to appreciate the mer’s beauty.</p>
<p>Of course, now is really, <em>really</em> not the time for that and, as though in pointed reminder, Jaskier whimpers, curling in around their sluggishly bleeding wound.  Geralt’s arms tighten fractionally around them before he can stop himself.</p>
<p>
  <em>The creak of a door, the scrape of boots over hard-packed earth –</em>
</p>
<p>Instincts slamming to the fore, Geralt turns at once in search of a renewed threat and sees a large, relatively well-built building with its door open.  He recognises the man who stands outside the entrance as the alderman, his scent nowhere near as pungent with fear as it had been yesterday.</p>
<p>‘Witcher,’ the alderman says gravely.  His gaze flickers to Jaskier and he swallows, ducking his head in a shallow bow.  ‘Mer.’</p>
<p>Geralt snarls and then nearly chokes in surprise as he feels a deep growl rumble to life in Jaskier’s chest, glancing down to see the mer’s teeth bared.</p>
<p>The alderman lifts his head and still he doesn’t collapse into a dithering mess of panicked stuttering like most humans would when faced with a severely pissed off witcher <em>and</em> mer.</p>
<p>‘You have done us a great service, witcher,’ he announces, and people appear in the doorway behind him.  ‘We didn’t know what creature lay in the lake and Lord Ravel made no mention of a mer or –’ he winces – ‘a pup.  None of us would have helped him hunt if we’d known.’</p>
<p>Ah.  That’s right.  These townspeople are supposedly respectful of the deadly mer they lived so near to.</p>
<p>In the far off distance, Geralt can just barely hear the sounds of reinforcements, no more than a few minutes away.</p>
<p>‘There are more soldiers coming,’ he grunts, an invitation of sorts.</p>
<p>Dissatisfied mutterings come from behind the alderman, whose lips purse.  ‘Be on your way then, witcher.  We will see to the lord’s men.’</p>
<p>Geralt doesn’t look the gift horse in the mouth, simply strides past the silver-laced gate and crouches by the canal.  Jaskier hasn’t stopped growling, but it’s quieter, more a vibration felt on the skin than a noise in the ear.  Their bright eyes meet Geralt’s momentarily, assessing, as they flick their tail into the canal again and surge out of his arms to dive with impressive grace below the water.  He sees Ciri’s silvery little form appear briefly before disappearing beneath Jaskier, no doubt to swim in a protected position mere inches below them.</p>
<p>Straightening up now that he’s seen to the mer, Geralt barely spares a glance for the people pouring out onto the main street in sombre silence before breaking into a run.  It’s not quite a sprint, as they’ve a way to go yet, but it’s certainly faster than most humans could reach, let alone maintain, and without Roach it’s the best he can do.  He’s not worried about it being too slow – Jaskier is tired, injured, and still losing blood.</p>
<p>Fortunately, the rest of the town is empty of soldiers and, for the most part, empty of citizens either.  Geralt’s swords jostle slightly against his back as he runs, a comforting weight while he keeps a sharp eye out for signs of an ambush anywhere.</p>
<p>Roach appears on the edge of the town and Geralt huffs in relief.  He leaps across the river shortly before it leaves the canal and broadens again, muttering a litany of praise to her as he scrambles onto her back.  She nickers smugly and then they’re off once more, keeping pace with the streak of deep blue just below the river’s surface.  There’s a fairly well-worn path alongside the river which they follow and Geralt briefly indulges in the notion that they might all reach the ocean with no more trouble.</p>
<p>
  <em>Briefly.</em>
</p>
<p>Because apparently Destiny hasn't heaped enough shit on everyone's collective plate as it is.</p>
<p>(Has Geralt mentioned yet how much he hates the sea because he really, really, <em>really -</em>)</p>
<p>The ocean is an endless grey cloak swathing the horizon, the smell of salt strong in the air, and the dunes only a half mile away when Geralt’s medallion <em>hums</em> and the river <em>seethes</em> and Jaskier <em>roars –</em></p>
<p>There’s a net woven with silver threads hung across the width of the river and it wasn’t there a second ago which means the fucking thing’s <em>enchanted.</em>  Jaskier emerges spitting with rage from the water, their eyes glowing like a mage’s bespelled gems, livid streaks of red criss-crossed over their skin and Geralt feels a thrill of horror, praying to all the gods that may or may not exist that Jaskier caught the pup before she hit the net.</p>
<p>Foreign scents filter through the air and Geralt’s expecting the group of armed men who burst out of the foliage before he sees them, his bloodied steel sword in one hand and Roach snorting and aggressive beneath him.  She lunges into the fray, hooves kicking out with deadly force as Geralt bisects a man’s skull with one slice, brutal and effective but not <em>enough</em>, there’s too many of them and some are already slipping around him towards the river, Geralt’s <em>not enough –</em></p>
<p>His medallion shivers.  <em>Violently.</em></p>
<p>And Jaskier begins to sing.</p>
<p>Wordless, their cry twines through the air, reaching out with a thousand lures of compulsion that stick and cling and <em>seduce</em>, stronger than Geralt’s ever felt in all his encounters with mer but he expected that, didn’t he?  If there’s one thing Vesemir drilled into his head about mer, it’s that the smaller, physically weaker ones are the most dangerous because their magic is exponentially more powerful.</p>
<p>Jaskier’s the smallest adult mer Geralt’s come across in over a century of life so it stands to reason that their voice is threatening to give him a fatal brain bleed.</p>
<p>He grits his teeth against the lures and hacks at a dazed soldier’s neck, arterial blood fountaining.  Then the air pressure drops and his ears pop forcefully, making him shake his head like a wet dog, and he wheels Roach about, looking back to the river, and <em>oh.</em></p>
<p>A whirlpool is forming in the foaming river waters, Jaskier cutting a striking figure as they rear up in the epicentre with Ciri held close to their chest.  Their song builds to a scream, endless as the night is long, and their eyes are blazing beacons in the gloom as heavy clouds roll in overhead and a fierce wind picks up, whipping Geralt’s hair against his skin.  The humans are staggering and collapsing, their agonised cries inaudible as blood drips dark and viscous from their ears and noses, but he barely notices.</p>
<p>Geralt would worry that the mer had caught him in their howling song that drags a storm to life from <em>nothing</em> in mere <em>seconds</em> but he has a headache from resisting the compulsion and all he’s thinking about is what a waste of life this wretched job has been, how quickly he needs to move back so as not to be drowned, when Roach is going to stop listening to him and <em>bolt –</em></p>
<p>Lightning lances down from the sky and the silver net <em>explodes</em> at the contact, releasing a heavy wave of magic which punches the air out of Geralt’s lungs and has Roach rearing and whinnying in distress.  Thunder rumbles ominously but no rain falls and the wind is already dying down, the whirlpool collapsing and swallowing both mer in a rush of water strong enough to burst the banks.</p>
<p>When they don’t reappear, Geralt throttles the whisper of alarm that threads through his ribs but cancels out any feeling of superiority this gives him over his totally non-existent emotions by immediately sliding off Roach and hurrying to the river's edge, ignoring the fresh corpses littering the ground.  He drops to his knees, trying in vain to see more than a few inches down through the agitated water.</p>
<p>‘Jaskier,’ Geralt barks.  ‘Ciri.’</p>
<p>He tells himself his <em>only</em> concern is that this disaster of a trip will have been for nothing if the mer is dead.</p>
<p>
  <em>‘Jaskier.’</em>
</p>
<p>He’s not sure he’s buying it, though.</p>
<p>A shrill yip a little way downstream has Geralt’s attention shifting at once.  A small head of wet silver hair appears above the choppy waves and crystalline green eyes find his for a split second before the little mer disappears again.  Geralt runs along the bank, water sloshing into his boots, and Ciri reappears with a frantic trill, clinging to something she has no hope of dragging to the surface.</p>
<p>Jaskier.</p>
<p>Geralt wades in up to his knees and plunges his arms into the cold water, finding two handfuls of limp mer and frowning fiercely as he locks his muscles, digs in his heels, and <em>pulls</em>.  As heavy as Jaskier is, Geralt distantly acknowledges that this is only possible because of how “small” the damn mer is.  Any bigger and the bank would collapse beneath him as he hauled on them or their sheer mass would pull him in too.  It still takes him several minutes of snarling effort to drag Jaskier out of the river’s jealous grasp, their fin waving lazily in the powerful current as he inelegantly lays their upper body on the sodden grass.</p>
<p>Ciri makes unhappy warbling noises in the back of her throat, hanging onto the dark blue scales below Jaskier’s hips with sharp little claws.  She looks up at Geralt, her strange scent (<em>wet and cold and deep, the merest hint of salt on the tongue</em>) soured only with fear for her parent, and seems to plead with the witcher for help.</p>
<p>He’ll deny it unto his death but Geralt’s heart turns to absolute mush between one second and the next.  Any vague thoughts he had of slapping Jaskier awake and leaving them to it disintegrate like so much smoke.</p>
<p>‘They’ll be alright,’ he finds himself saying in his best attempt at a reassuring tone, hoping Jaskier had simply overexerted themself.</p>
<p>The arrowhead is still lodged firmly in the front of their shoulder and half a dozen long scratches from the poleaxes mar their lithely muscled torso.  Excess blood has been washed away, of course, but red flesh gleams wetly amongst stark white skin.  None of the scaled areas of Jaskier’s body have been pierced, the shiny blue scales at least as tough as the heavy leather armour Geralt wears.  He cocks his head, listening for the heartbeat and easily finds it.  Mer pulses run slower than human ones and Jaskier’s is going a little slower than that, but the beat is steady.  Geralt leans in closer to measure their breath and hums in satisfaction at the regular puffs pushing past their lips.</p>
<p>Pale lids flick up and Geralt’s line of sight is suddenly filled with clear blue, blue, blue.  Their pupils contract to ink-black slits and Geralt is caught, ensnared on azure.  Up this close, Jaskier’s scent is a swirling mix of things (<em>danger!</em> his instincts scream) but even groggy with pain and exhaustion, this mer displays as much fear at Geralt’s presence as their pup – which is to say, none.</p>
<p>‘Ciri?’ they rasp, still unmoving but for minute shifts, muscle bunching and releasing under damp skin.</p>
<p>‘Safe,’ Geralt grunts, his focus keenly fixed to unblinking bright eyes.  He should be concerned that their question indicates a lack of sensory function in their tail but –</p>
<p>‘Did I hurt you?  With my song?’</p>
<p>A nonsensical query to put to a witcher but Jaskier’s voice is worried.</p>
<p>‘No,’ Geralt replies, his tone indicating the ridiculousness of the mer’s concern.</p>
<p>The smile the unfurls across Jaskier’s face is slow and toothy and real – and mischievous.  Geralt’s hackles are immediately raised.</p>
<p>‘Good,’ they say lightly.  ‘Can I get up now?  Not that the proximity isn’t lovely but –’</p>
<p>Geralt realises he’s still leaning over them, scant inches between their faces, and he recoils violently as though stung.  Jaskier coughs a ragged laugh and awkwardly pushes themself up into a seated position, arms quivering slightly.  Any potential further comments are forestalled by Ciri squeaking in excitement and hurling herself at Jaskier’s chest.  They trill and coo reassurances at her as she wraps her little body around them, carefully avoiding the arrow wound.</p>
<p>Geralt sits back on his heels and looks away, catching sight of Roach unconcernedly nibbling grass under the trees in the near distance.  His skin feels too tight and his teeth are grinding together.  If he had a human’s heartbeat, he’d be blushing, which is mildly humiliating.  What the fuck had he been doing staring at Jaskier like that, hmm?  He can’t even blame it on sticky mer magic because they hadn’t used any.</p>
<p>He deals with it like most things he doesn’t like thinking about – simply shoving it out of the way and moving on.</p>
<p>Clearing his throat meaningfully, Geralt turns back to the two mer.  Despite their obvious pain, Jaskier still has a faintly amused look about them.  Geralt forcefully unclenches hits teeth.</p>
<p>‘Nearly to the sea,’ he says stonily.  ‘Can you swim?’</p>
<p>Jaskier tilts forward, readjusting their balance so they can curl an arm around Ciri’s back, claws combing through her hair on automatic.  ‘Yes.  But first, the arrow.’  Dark hair slides over pale skin as they nod to their injury, the arm lying lax at their side.  ‘Take it out.’</p>
<p>Geralt frowns sharply.  ‘Have you healing magic?’</p>
<p>The edge of a fanged smile, blue eyes twinkling.  ‘The ocean is my healing magic but it cannot do its work with the iron still in me.’</p>
<p>Geralt’s gaze flicks to Ciri and back, a silent question.  Jaskier sets their jaw, gills on either side of their neck fluttering as they swallow and firm their grip on her.  She looks up and warbles quietly, plainly worried.  They brush their nose over her forehead with a croon and she settles.  Jaskier meets Geralt’s gaze steadily, lifting their chin.  Understanding the implicit command, he purses his lips and rocks forward, bracing his knees on the ground and reaching out with cautious hands.</p>
<p>Jaskier hisses like an angry cat that swallowed a hornet’s nest when Geralt’s fingers close around the broken end of the shaft.  ‘Do it,’ they growl.</p>
<p>The arrow isn’t hooked and nor is it so deep that it would be easier to push it all the way through.  Plus, there are major arteries in this area of the body and Geralt has no intention of nicking any of them, so he holds Jaskier’s shoulder still with one hand and in one quick movement yanks the arrowhead out.  A cracked groan rattles up the mer’s throat and they shudder, clutching a whining Ciri close.  Blood pulses out of the hole and trails down the side of their chest.</p>
<p>Geralt tosses the arrowhead to one side, fighting the pointless urge to blot the wound and bind it.  ‘Time to go,’ he orders, pushing to his feet.  ‘The sooner you get to the sea, the better.’</p>
<p>‘Wait,’ Jaskier gasps, the word wobbling suspiciously.</p>
<p>There’s a lump in Geralt’s gut and he doesn’t like it.</p>
<p>The mer’s head tips back so they can look at him and their whole body sways slightly.  ‘Take her,’ they pant, nudging Ciri with their good arm.  ‘The waters are rough here and she’s never swum them, I can’t guide her safely like this –’</p>
<p>Briefly stunned into silence, Geralt interrupts brusquely, ‘Fine.  Tell her so she isn’t frightened.’</p>
<p>He didn’t mean for the last bit to slip out, he really didn’t, but it did and Jaskier smiles up at him, a confusing mix of knowing and sweet.  There’s a swift exchange of chirping clucks between the mer and then Ciri turns to him, raising her arms to be lifted.  Geralt picks her up gingerly, all too aware of how breakable she is, and awkwardly cradles her.  For her part, Ciri only watches him with inquisitive eyes and sniffs at him, her tiny claws dug into his armour for purchase.</p>
<p>‘She’s not as fragile as you might think,’ Jaskier snickers.</p>
<p>Geralt glares balefully at them but they’re already slipping back into the river.  Pain flashes across their face and Geralt whistles to Roach, who swiftly trots over.  He pulls the reins over her head so he can lead her with his free hand, while Ciri tucks her head under his jaw.</p>
<p>The odd little party sets off again and the clouds finally decide to rain, though the droplets fall lightly, which is a relief.  It’s not even midday yet but Geralt feels drained already, which perhaps he has a right to.  A massacre, two troublesome mer, and a magic storm.  Fuck.  And <em>now</em> he’s carrying a mer pup!  A mer pup who is decidedly not scared of him!  A mer pup who is <em>chewing on his collar!</em></p>
<p><em>Gods</em>, it’s been a fucking <em>day</em> and it’s <em>still not midday.</em></p>
<p>Ciri’s tail coils loosely around his forearm and her hair brushes his chin as she shifts for a better shewing position.  Geralt has a wild thought that she might be teething.  Do mer do that?  Is that a mer thing?  He has no idea.</p>
<p>And no, he will not spare a <em>single fucking thought</em> for her parent.  Roach is already giving him judgemental looks and she wasn’t there to witness half of it.</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>......</p>
<p>.........</p>
<p>Fine!  Maybe he’s having a minor meltdown over a damned <em>mer</em> but he’s fine!  Really.  Completely, absolutely fine.  Never mind the fact that they <em>gave him their child to hold</em> and their eyes are like the sky but if it was painted with purest blue paint blended with crushed sapphires.</p>
<p>Look.  Geralt’s been alive a while.  He knows how to deal with ridiculous infatuations.</p>
<p>Not that he’s infatuated with Jaskier.  Oh no.  Certainly not.</p>
<p>(He’s pretty sure Lambert and Eskel would have asphyxiated from laughing at him by now and Vesemir would have reduced the ruins of Kaer Morhen to rubble with the force of his sighing, but that’s neither here nor there.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Walking on sand is as annoying as Geralt recalls it to be and from the way Roach snorts behind him, she agrees.  They persevere and by the time they make it over the dunes and down to the broad, shallow mouth of the river, Jaskier is waiting for them.  Their tail is curled and their fins flared for balance on the smooth stones, water rushing at barely a foot deep here.</p>
<p>Geralt mutters for Roach to stay and she eyeballs him like she’s blaming him for bringing her to this terrible place.  He pats the side of her neck apologetically and hurries down to the water because Ciri has started squirming eagerly and he’s honestly a bit worried she’s going to slip out of his hold.  It’s not exactly like he can just <em>squeeze</em> her to get a better grip.  He sets her down by Jaskier’s tail so she can’t get swept out to sea and she trills gleefully, rolling through the water and flicking her tail playfully.</p>
<p>Jaskier’s clavicle still looks like shit but there’s a crooked little smile on their face and it reeks of sincerity.  ‘You didn’t break her,’ they say proudly.</p>
<p>Geralt’s hackles go up again and he scowls, only to have Jaskier toss their head at him and snort.</p>
<p><em>‘You</em> were the one who looked so alarmed to be holding her,’ the mer scoffs.  ‘So don’t look at <em>me</em> like that.’  They cock their head, blue eyes intense.  ‘I am not a fool to doubt that you know how to be gentle when I have felt your kindness myself, witcher or not.’</p>
<p>Snowy brows lift in unmasked surprise.  ‘She was... not burdensome.’  Alright, that was possibly the most confusing way he could have said that but words have never been Geralt’s strong suit.</p>
<p>Jaskier only grins, sharp teeth on full display.  They beckon him closer and, reluctant but not entirely unwilling, Geralt crouches before them.</p>
<p>‘Thank you, Geralt,’ Jaskier says earnestly.  ‘For helping my pup and I.  I have no coin to offer you in recompense.’</p>
<p>Geralt clears his throat uncomfortably, turning his gaze out to the grey-blue ocean.  ‘No matter,’ he mutters.  ‘I was simply righting a wrong.’</p>
<p>‘Is that so?’ Jaskier hums, leaning in a little closer.</p>
<p>Their scent washes over him, raw with pain but otherwise crisp and clean and warm.  Trusting.  Perhaps more.</p>
<p>Geralt permits himself to be caught by piercing eyes of azure once more, allowing himself one more moment of being adrift in a shining blue that promises to hold him so <em>close</em>, so <em>tender</em>.  But he knows better than to trust the promises of a mer and he does not follow the pull.</p>
<p>Jaskier makes a quiet noise, pleased.  ‘I don’t think this will be the last I see of you, Geralt, White Wolf of Rivia.’</p>
<p>What.</p>
<p>‘I do,’ he rumbles.  ‘I have no intention of returning to the coast for a century at least.’</p>
<p>Jaskier doesn’t look deterred in the slightest which is more than a little worrying.  In fact, they completely disregard his words.  ‘Will you let me give you something else as thanks?’</p>
<p>There is no mistaking their meaning, not with their attention flicking down to Geralt’s mouth (suddenly dry) and oh-so-slowly back up.</p>
<p>The decision takes Geralt less than a second.  He finds the mer attractive, despite all their irritations, with or without the lure of their compulsion and he won’t be seeing them again, so why not?</p>
<p>‘Hmm,’ he says approvingly.</p>
<p>The mer’s scent sweetens just a little as they lean in and unabashedly sink sharp teeth into the swell Geralt’s lower lip.  Not to be outdone, he cups their jaw with one firm hand and licks boldly into their mouth, taking his time to taste them and leave them flushed and breathless.</p>
<p>In the end, it’s just as well Ciri is there or else a single kiss might have turned into something quite different.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Three years later</em>
</p>
<p>Geralt completes a contract for a drowner in a nondescript village on the northern edge of Temeria.  Afterwards, he holes up in a corner of the single tavern and nurses a pint of surprisingly reasonable ale.</p>
<p>He hears footsteps and a heartbeat, unusually slow, approach and stop just outside his periphery.  He doesn’t look up.</p>
<p>‘I’m here to drink alone.’</p>
<p>There’s a rustle of fine fabric and a hint of <em>crisp clean salt</em> that has Geralt’s head jerking up despite his intentions as a man sits on the other side of the table.  He sees blue eyes set in fair skin under dark hair.</p>
<p>No, not a man.</p>
<p><em>‘How,’</em> he demands flatly.</p>
<p>Jaskier laughs.  ‘My mother’s a sea witch.’</p>
<p>Geralt wants to groan and bang his head on the table.  Instead, he shuts his eyes for a long second.</p>
<p>‘Ciri?’ he asks.</p>
<p>‘She said to say hello to the big man with white hair who looked after us when she was a baby.’</p>
<p>Geralt squints.  ‘She isn’t still a baby?’  It had only been three years, right.</p>
<p>‘It would take a braver soul than I to say that to <em>her,’</em> Jaskier replies cheerfully.  ‘One of her aunts tried that on her just the other month and I’ve never heard such –’</p>
<p>All of a sudden, Geralt has had enough and, since it’s apparently a day for wild flights of fancy to come true, he stands.</p>
<p>Jaskier pauses, mid-tirade, and arches a slim brow.</p>
<p>‘I have a room,’ Geralt announces, abrupt and a touch awkward and oh, what if the mer isn’t interested?  What if –</p>
<p>Jaskier stands, eyes like the summer sky twinkling as they grin.  ‘Thought you’d never ask,’ they say, and was their scent this delicious last time?  ‘Lead on, Wolf.’</p>
<p>So Geralt does as he’s told and in the very private recesses of his own mind, considers the possibility that maybe, <em>maybe</em> the ocean isn’t quite as awful as he’d once thought.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>nice to get back to writing some good ol' fisticuffs except with a lot more swords and blood and death! but also im not super feeling this fic, i'll sing your praises forever if you have a kind word to spare TT <i>also</i> also nz has just been put into a four week lockdown sooo maybe i'll have lots more writing time now???</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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